STINGIF ON A WINTER’S NIGHT…

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Kathryn Tickell Mary Macmaster

StingDominic Miller

Julian Sutton Bijan Chemirani

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All songs arranged by Sting and Robert Sadin

1 Gabriel’s Message 2:33 Trad.

Sting, Vocals • Dominic Miller, Guitar • Ira Coleman, BassIbrahim Maalouf, Trumpet • Cyro Baptista, Percussion

2 Soul Cake 3:27 Music and Lyrics by Paul Stookey, Tracey Batteast and Elena Mezzetti

Sting, Vocals, Percussion • The Webb Sisters, Background VocalsJoe Sumner, Background Vocals • Dean Parks, Guitar, MandolinDavid Mansfi eld, Mandolin • Kathryn Tickell, Violin • Peter Tickell, Violin Ira Coleman, Bass • Chris Gekker, Trumpet • Brent Madsen, TrumpetJohn Clark, Horn • Chris Dudley, Trombone • Marcus Rojas, TubaLeslie Neish, Tuba

3 There Is No Rose of Such Virtue 4:03Anon.

Sting, Vocals, Lute • The Webb Sisters, Background VocalsJoe Sumner, Background Vocals • Bassam Saba, Oud, NeyDavid Hartley, Harmonium • Rhani Krija, PercussionBijan Chemirani, Percussion • Daniel Freedman, Percussion

4 The Snow It Melts the Soonest 3:43Trad.

Sting, Vocals • Dominic Miller, Guitar • Ira Coleman, Bass

5 Christmas at Sea 4:37 Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, Music by Sting and Mary Macmaster

Sting, Vocals, Guitar, Snare Drum • Mary Macmaster, Vocals, HarpDominic Miller, Guitar • David Mansfi eld, 12-String Guitar, Lap Dulcimer Kathryn Tickell, Violin • Ira Coleman, Bass • Donald Hay, Percussion Bashiri Johnson, Percussion

6 Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming 2:42 Music by Michael Praetorius, English Translation by Theodore Baker

Sting, Vocals • Stile Antico, Vocal Ensemble • Kathryn Tickell, Northumbrian Smallpipes, Violin • Vincent Ségal, Cello • Julian Sutton, MelodeonStrings of the Musica Aeterna Orchestra • Robert Sadin, Conductor

7 Cold Song 3:16Music by Henry Purcell, Lyrics by John Dryden

Sting, Vocals • Dominic Miller, Guitar • Svetlana Tsovena, Violin Vincent Ségal, Cello • Daphna Mor, Recorder • John Ellis, Bass Clarinet Robert Sadin, Percussion

8 The Burning Babe 2:43 Music by Chris Wood, Lyrics by Robert Southwell

Sting, Vocals, Guitar, Percussion • Lisa Fischer, Background VocalsDavid Mansfi eld, Mandolin, Lap Dulcimer, MandocelloKathryn Tickell, Violin • Vincent Ségal, Cello • Ira Coleman, BassJulian Sutton, Melodeon • Mary Macmaster, HarpKenny Garrett, Soprano Saxophone • Jack DeJohnette, DrumsDaniel Druckman, Snare Drum • Cyro Baptista, Percussion

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9 Now Winter Comes Slowly 3:05 Music by Henry Purcell, Lyrics by Thomas Betterton

Sting, Vocals • Daniel Hope, Violin • Dov Scheindlin, ViolaMelissa Meell, Cello • Ira Coleman, Bass • Robert Sadin, Soundscape

10 The Hounds of Winter 5:49Music and Lyrics by Sting

Sting, Vocals, Guitar, Percussion • Lisa Fischer, Vocals Dominic Miller, Guitar Kathryn Tickell, Violin • Vincent Ségal, Cello Julian Sutton, Melodeon • John Ellis, Bass Clarinet • David Sancious, Organ Cyro Baptista, Percussion • Bijan Chemirani, PercussionBashiri Johnson, Percussion

11 Balulalow 3:10 Music by Peter Warlock, Lyrics Trad.

Sting, Vocals, Guitar • Lisa Fischer, Background VocalsJasmine Thomas, Background Vocals • Vincent Ségal, CelloCharles Curtis, Cello • Chris Botti, TrumpetDaniel Druckman, Snare Drum • Bashiri Johnson, Frame DrumStrings of the Musica Aeterna Orchestra • Robert Sadin, Conductor

12 Cherry Tree Carol 3:11 Trad.

Sting, Vocals, Guitar

13 Lullaby for an Anxious Child 2:50Music and Lyrics by Sting and Dominic Miller

Sting, Vocals • Dominic Miller, Guitar • Kathryn Tickell, ViolinVincent Ségal, Cello • Julian Sutton, Melodeon • Mary Macmaster, HarpIra Coleman, Bass • Cyro Baptista, Percussion

14 The Hurdy-Gurdy Man 2:49 Music by Franz Schubert, Poem by Wilhelm Müller, English Adaptation by Sting

Sting, Vocals, Guitar • Julian Sutton, Melodeon • Daniel Hope, Violin

15 You Only Cross My Mind in Winter 2:35Music by J. S. Bach, Lyrics by Sting

Sting, Vocals • Edin Karamazov, Lute • Ira Coleman, BassStrings of the Musica Aeterna Orchestra • Robert Sadin, Conductor

BONUS TRACK

16 Coventry Carol 2:34Trad.

Sting, Vocals • Stile Antico, Vocal Ensemble • Dominic Miller, GuitarKathryn Tickell, Violin • Vincent Ségal, Cello • Julian Sutton, MelodeonStrings of the Musica Aeterna Orchestra • Robert Sadin, Conductor

It is february 2009 , a cold, relent-

less wind rattles doors and windows as it wraps itself round the old house that sits atop a Tuscan hillside. Sur-

rounded by cypress trees standing against the wintry onslaught, the house has been my home and retreat for the last decade. In the summer its elevation gives us some respite from the sizzling temperatures in nearby Florence, but in the winter we experience the implacable wind that descends from the North down the peninsula and across the exposed Tuscan hills.

Seven musicians, wrapped in scarves and coats, instruments resting on their knees, sit huddled around the kitchen fi replace, nursing hot mugs of tea, attempting to get some warmth into their fi ngers. Nearest to me is Kathryn Tickell, a traditional musi-cian from my hometown of Newcastle. Her Northumbrian pipes, as well as her fi ddle playing, have graced four of my albums since the early nineties. Next to her sits Julian Sutton, another traditional musician from Newcastle, who says very little, pre-ferring instead to express his eloquence via

the buttons of his beloved melodeon. To my right is long-term colleague and guitarist Dominic Miller, my right and left hand for almost two decades. His presence, as well as his patience with my gadfl y meanderings, is as comforting as his hands are steady. Mary Macmaster, Celtic harpist from Scotland, sits smiling in the glow of the fi relight, patiently tuning the steel strings of her instrument between sips of tea.

I met cellist Vincent Ségal last year while performing in Steve Nieve’s opera Welcome to the Voice at the Châtelet Theatre in Paris. Vin-cent plays everything from plucked bossa nova rhythms to sonorous Bach preludes. The Châtelet is also where I met Ibrahim Maalouf, an exceptional Leba nese trumpet player. He is another quiet soul who sits absently staring at my dog Compass lying by the corner of the fi replace: Compass returns his gaze with a look that is both watchful and insouciant. Finally there is violinist Daniel Hope, more at home perhaps in the great concert halls of the world than in a farmhouse kitchen, but nonetheless excited to be among this motley group of musicians

IF ON A WINTER’S NIGHT...

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– and able to improvise in the informal way that most of us outside the classical world approach musical arrangements.

Each of us will explore the chosen pieces on his or her own, until the separate strands are woven together – a process which, I sup-pose, is my job: a task I’m happy to share on this occasion with Bob Sadin, New York producer, orchestral arranger and conduc-tor. Bob stands with his back to the room, facing the window and observing the in-clement weather, his fl at cap clamped per-manently on to the back of his head. “Shall we begin?” he says, still with his back to us. “We seem to have been gifted with the appropriate weather.” Ah, yes! For we are gathered here to celebrate and explore the music of Winter, the season of frosts and long dark nights.

WINTERS PAST

bob hands out copies of the “cold song” by Henry Purcell from the semi-opera King Arthur, with lyrics by John Dryden. The Cold Genius is summoned back from the dead, we start to play, and somewhere in the house a door slams.

The cold months of the northern hemi-sphere have been granted to us by the fortunate tilt of the earth on its axis, and they exercise a powerful infl uence on our

collective psychology. They are part of the myth of ourselves we carry inside our heads, created as much in the shared landscape of the imagination as in the concrete reality of our surroundings.

Like all earthly creatures we seem pre-wired to recognize and respond to the polar archetypes of light and dark, of heat and cold, as they are encoded in the rhythm of the days and nights and the perpetual cycle of the seasons.

Today is exceptionally cold but the win-ters of my childhood seemed to be far longer and far colder than they are now. Winter in this 21st century seems scarcely to begin before it is over, snowfall is rare, and when it does occur, it is short-lived. Global warming, if that is what is reducing our annual cold season, is probably taking its toll on the human psyche just as it seems to be altering the seasonal rhythms of the planet itself.

Something important is in the process of being taken from us, for despite the fre quent foulness of the weather and the hardship of those who have to work out-side, there is something of the Winter that is primal, mysterious and utterly irreplace-able, something both bleak and profoundly beautiful, something essential to this myth of ourselves, to the story of our humanity, as if we somehow need the darkness of the

winter months to replenish our inner spirits as much as we need the light, energy and warmth of the summer.

I remember well those long hours of dark ness from November to March. We would walk to school in the dark, and fi nd our way home in that same darkness. When we rose, there would be frost on the inside of windows, where you could scratch a face with your fi ngernail. We would get dressed for school under the sheets, and then, bundled up under layers of woollen clothes, we would walk ghostly streets in freezing fogs, ice treacherously underfoot, and we’d gaze in wonder at icicles hanging from railway bridges.

I remember the soft snowfall of so many dark winter mornings with my Dad on his milk round. We would often be the fi rst to disturb it, as we drove silently through the empty streets, and the fi rst to leave our footprints on pavements and garden paths, with the clank of the milk bottles in our hands muffl ed by the deadening and sound-less snow. In whatever was left of the day, the sun was scarcely glimpsed, if at all: just a cold yellow disc rising above the naked treetops, or the whitened roofs of the town.

Sometimes on a winter’s night I would contrive to be alone in the downstairs room of our draughty Victorian house. We kept

a coal fi re there, our only source of heat. Turning off the light and sitting on the edge of the fender, I’d be drawn to the glowing coals and the fl ickering of the fi relight, the room full of darting shadows. There I was free to imagine spirits and hauntings, for Winter, more than any other, was the season of the imagination, of transformed magical landscapes and the eerie silences of the snow.

Later that evening in Tuscany, the wind still howling outside, I will ask Kathryn if she knows any songs from Newcastle that would suit this project. She tells me that when she was a small child her Dad used to sing her a song called “The Snow It Melts the Soonest”. I don’t know it, but she and Julian will patiently teach it to me. The song, like the moors of Northumberland in the winter, has a characteristic bleakness and is starkly beautiful. As I sing it, I feel a rare twinge of homesickness.

THE CHRISTMAS STORY

since the first millennium the festi val of Christmas has become the central and de-fi ning event of the winter season; the story of Christ’s birth contains many magical ele-ments, prefi gured by ancient prophecy: the god king born among animals in a stable, the mysterious star in the East, the Three

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Wise Men, King Herod and the Slaughter of the Innocents, Mary and Joseph and the conundrum of the Virgin Birth. I appreciate the beauty of these stories and how they have inspired musicians and poets for many centuries. It was my desire to treat these themes with reverence and respect, and despite my personal agnosticism, the sacred symbolism of the Church’s art still exerts a powerful infl uence over me. In the medieval lexicon the rose was a symbol of fl awless perfection and became associated with both Christ and his mother Mary. Two songs in this collection have this as a central metaphor, both based on a verse from Isaiah (“And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots”): “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming”, a 15th-century German carol, harmonized by Praetorius a century later, and “There Is No Rose of Such Vir-tue”, an English carol from the same period. While the metaphor of the rose is clearly medieval, it appears to carry a faint echo of the nature spirits of the pre-Christian era. While this would undoubtedly have been an unconscious link, the syncretic nature of symbolism is both subtle and persistent.

In selecting the songs here, I was drawn to many of the beautiful lullabies from both secular and religious traditions and became intrigued by their dual nature, for lullabies

seem to be designed not only to soothe but also to unsettle the listener. For example, terror is the subtext of the “Coventry Carol,” dating from the 16th century and performed as part of a mystery play The Pageant of Shearmen and Tailors, is ostensibly a lullaby to soothe away the cares and anxieties of children, but the story of King Herod’s Slaughter of the Innocents would be more likely to induce nightmares than peaceful slumber. This strangely ambivalent nature of many lullabies (“Rock-a-Bye Baby” is hardly more reassuring) may have something to do with the ritual warding off of evil, wherein the naming of the “terror” will hopefully rob it of its power.

Peter Warlock composed his beautiful setting of the Scottish hymn “Balulalow”, a lullaby that is lyrically at the more comfort-ing end of the spectrum; but the E fl at pedal against the modal voicing of the arrange-ment is not entirely free of dark portents. Similarly, “Lullaby for an Anxious Child”, one of my own compositions with Dominic Miller, contains forebodings of a dark world beyond the cradle.

The imagery of “Gabriel’s Message”, orig-inally a Basque carol, is both beautiful and terrifying. Mary, who is – as usual – de-scribed as meek and gentle, is confronted by the vision of an awesome being with eyes of fl ame and wings of drifted snow.

The Mary and Joseph of the “Cherry Tree Carol” are attractively human in the way they respond to their unusual predicament. On their fl ight into Egypt, Mary, now with child, asks her husband to gather cherries for her. With some anger, Joseph replies that the father of the baby should fetch her cher-ries, and not he. Such an honest emotional response is refreshing.

Implicit in the story of the birth of Christ is the knowledge of his death and his sub-sequent Resurrection. This is what connects it to the secular songs about the cycle of the seasons. We are reminded that there is light and life at the centre of the darkness that is Winter – or conversely, that, no matter how comfortable we feel in the cradle, there is darkness and danger all around us.

ANCIENT ECHOES

the magical quality of the christian story is not diminished by the knowledge that much of the myth of Christmas seems to have been superimposed upon an ancient matrix. If anything, those ancient echoes of the pagan solstice still reverberate in the stories of spirits and ghosts for which the season is famous.

Our ancestors celebrated the paradox of light at the heart of the darkness, and the consequent miracle of rebirth and the

regeneration of the seasons. Ancient cultures not only observed these phenomena but also took an active and imaginative role in their propagation. The winter solstice needed to be celebrated ritually so that a new cycle of the seasons could begin, crops could be sown, animals husbanded and life itself could proceed. It is this imaginative contract with nature that was at the heart of the win-ter rituals and at the heart of ancient myth.

For me it was important to draw paral-lels between the Christian story and the older traditions of the winter solstice. These myths and stories are our common cultural heritage, and as such need to be kept alive through reinterpretation within the con-text of contemporary thinking, even if that thinking is essentially agnostic. However, the mystery at the heart of the cosmos, and indeed of life itself, remains intact – perhaps insoluble to beings at our level of conscious-ness. In the meantime, all of us need our myths to live by.

like many people, i have an ambiva -lent attitude towards the celebration of Christmas. For many, it is a period of in-tense loneliness and alienation. I specifi cally avoided the jolly, almost triumphalist, strain in many of the Christian carols. I make a musical reference to “God Rest Ye Merry,

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Gentlemen” only as a dramatic counterpoint to the words in “Soul Cake”, for example. This was a song sung at Halloween by chil-dren who go from door to door asking for pennies and “soul cakes” (the latter not origi-nally intended for the living). I was also keen to avoid the domestic cosiness of many of the secular songs, recognizing that, for many, Winter is a time of darkness and introspection.

Likewise, I was attracted to Robert Louis Stevenson’s poem “Christmas at Sea” be-cause it describes so well the powerful gravi-tational pull of home that Christmas exerts on the traveller. When Mary Macmaster started to sing the Gaelic song “Thograinn Thograinn”, a women’s working song from the Isle of Skye, I thought the melody would make a perfect counterpoint for the longing of Stevenson’s sailor, who fi nds himself on a foundering ship below the cliff-side town where he was born: “of all days in the year … on blessed Christmas morn”.

For those with even darker tastes “The Burning Babe”, a poem by the 16th-century English Jesuit martyr Robert Southwell, of-fers a macabre vision encountered on a winter’s night of the infant Jesus suspended in the darkness and burning in agony for the sins of man. The musical setting is the work of traditional singer and fi ddler Chris Wood.

It would have seemed strange not to make reference at least to Schubert’s great song

cycle Winterreise, his masterly meditation on the season, and one of the inspirations for the present collection. I’ve taken some liberties with the English translation of “Der Leiermann” in suggesting that the snarling dogs mentioned there may perhaps take a more active role in the demise of the hurdy-gurdy man. The observer in the song not only maintains a sense of curiosity and empathy towards the subject but perhaps envisions the spectre of his own future.

Finally comes “You Only Cross My Mind in Winter”, inspired by the Sarabande from J. S. Bach’s Sixth Cello Suite; not surprisingly, it’s a ghost story. My other contribution to the album is also a ghost story of a kind, “The Hounds of Winter”.

Walking amid the snows of Winter, or sitting entranced in a darkened room gazing at the fi relight, usually evokes in me a mood of refl ection, a mood that can be at times philosophical, at others wildly irrational; I fi nd myself haunted by memories. For Winter is the season of ghosts; and ghosts, if they can be said to reside anywhere, reside here in this season of frosts and in these long hours of darkness. We must treat with them calmly and civilly, before the snows melt and the cycle of the seasons begins once more.

– Sting

Kathryn Tickell Vincent Ségal

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1 Gabriel’s MessageThe angel Gabriel from Heaven came,His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as fl ame; “All hail,” said he, “thou lowly maiden Mary,”Most highly favoured lady, Gloria!

“For known, a blessed Mother thou shalt be,All generations laud and honour thee,Thy Son shall be Emmanuel, by seers foretold,”Most highly favoured lady, Gloria!

Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head,“To me be as it pleaseth God,” she said;“My soul shall laud and magnify his holy name,”Most highly favoured lady, Gloria!

2 Soul CakeA soul cake, a soul cake, Please, good missus, a soul cake,An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry, Any good thing to make us all merry.A soul cake, a soul cake, Please, good missus, a soul cake,One for Peter, two for Paul, And three for Him that made us all.

God bless the master of this houseAnd the mistress also, And all the little childrenThat round your table grow; The cattle in your stable,The dogs at your front door,And all that dwell within your gatesWe’ll wish you ten times more.

A soul cake, a soul cake…

Go down into the cellarAnd see what you can fi nd;If the barrels are not emptyWe’ll hope that you’ll be kind;We’ll hope that you’ll be kindWith your apple and your pear,And we’ll come no more a-soulin’Till Christmas time next year.

A soul cake, a soul cake…

The streets are very dirty,Me shoes are very thin, I have a little pocketTo put a penny in;If you haven’t got a pennyA ha’penny will do;

If you haven’t got a ha’penny God bless you.

A soul cake, a soul cake…

3 There Is No Rose of Such VirtueThere is no rose of such virtueAs is the rose that bare Jesu;

For in this rose contained it wasHeaven and earth in little space;Alleluia.

There is no rose…

By that rose we may well seeThat he is God in persons three.Alleluia.

There is no rose…

The angels sung and the shepherds, too:Gloria in excelsis deo:Alleluia.

There is no rose…

4 The Snow It Melts the SoonestOh, the snow it melts the soonest when the

winds begin to sing,And the corn it ripens fastest when the frost is

settling in,And when a woman tells me, my face she’ll soon

forget,Before we’ll part, I’ll wage a croon she’s fain to

follow’t yet.

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing,

And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is spring;

But when spring goes and winter blows, my lassie, you’ll be fain

For all your pride to follow me across the stormy main.

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing,

And the bee that fl ew when summer shone in winter cannot sting;

I’ve seen a woman’s anger melt betwixt the night and morn,

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Ah, it’s surely not a harder thing to tame a woman’s scorn.

Oh, never say me farewell here, no farewell I’ll receive,

And you shall set me to the stile and kiss and take your leave;

I’ll stay until the curlew calls and the martlet takes his wing;

Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing.

5 Christmas at SeaAll day we fought the tides between the North

Head and the South,All day we hauled the frozen sheets to scape the

storm’s wet mouth,All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and

dread,For very life and nature we tacked from head

to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;

But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:

We saw the cliffs and houses and the breakers running high,

And the coastguard in his garden, his glass against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;

The good red fi res were burning bright in every ’long-shore home;

The windows sparkled clear and the chimneys volleyed out;

And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;

For it’s just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)

This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn,

And the house above the coastguard’s was the house where I was born.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,

Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;

And, oh, the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.

6 Lo, How a Rose E’er BloomingLo, how a rose e’er bloomingFrom tender stem hath sprung,Of Jesse’s lineage coming,As men of old have sung.It came a fl ow’ret brightAmid the cold of winterWhen half-spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it,This Rose that I have in mind.And with Mary we behold it,The Virgin Mother so sweet and so kind.To show God’s love aright,She bore to men a SaviourWhen half-spent was the night.

7 Cold SongWhat power art thou who from belowHast made me rise unwillingly and slowFrom beds of everlasting snow?

See’st thou not how stiff, how stiff and wondrous old,

Far, far unfi t to bear the bitter cold?I can scarcely move or draw my breath:Let me, let me, let me freeze again to death.

8 The Burning BabeAs I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the

snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my

heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fi re was

near,A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air

appear;

Who, scorchèd with excessive heat, such fl oods of tears did shed

As though his fl oods should quench his fl ames which with his tears were fed.

Alas, quoth he, but newly born in fi ery heats I fry,Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my

fi re but I!

My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel, wounding thorns,

Love is the fi re and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;

The fuel justice layeth on and mercy blows the coals,

The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defi lèd souls,

For which, as now on fi re I am to work them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.

With this he vanished out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,

And straight I callèd unto mind that it was Christmas day.

9 Now Winter Comes Slowly Now Winter comes Slowly, Pale, Meagre and Old,First trembling with Age and then quiv’ring with

Cold;Benumb’d with hard Frost and with Snow

cover’d o’er,Prays the Sun to Restore him and Sings as before.

10 The Hounds of Winter Mercury falling,I rise from my bed,Collect my thoughts together,I have to hold my head; It seems that she’s goneAnd somehow I am pinned By the Hounds of WinterHowling in the wind.

I walk through the day,My coat around my ears,I look for my companion,I have to dry my tears; It seems that she’s gone,Leaving me too soon;I’m as dark as December,I’m as cold as the Man in the Moon.

I still see her face,As beautiful as day;It’s easy to remember,Remember my love that way.All I hear is that lonesome soundAnd the Hounds of Winter,They follow me down.

I can’t make up the fi reThe way that she could,I spend all my daysIn the search for dry wood;Bar all the windows

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And close the front door, I can’t believe She won’t be here any more.

I still see her face…

A season for joy,A season for sorrow,Where she’s goneI will surely, surely follow;She brightened my day,She warmed the coldest night,But the Hounds of WinterThey got me in their sights.

I still see her face,As beautiful as day;It’s easy to remember,Remember my love that way;All I hear is that lonesome soundAnd the Hounds of Winter,They harry me down.

Mercury falling…

11 BalulalowO my dear hert, young Jesu sweet,Prepare thy credil in my spreitAnd I sall rock thee in my hertAnd never mair from thee depert.

But I sall praise thee evermoreWith sangis sweet unto thy glore.The knees of my hert sall I bow,And sing that richt Balulalow.

12 Cherry Tree CarolWhen Joseph was an old man, an old man was he,He courted Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee.

When Joseph and Mary were walking one day:Here is apples and cherries so fair to behold.

Then Mary spoke to Joseph so meek and so mild:“Joseph, gather me some cherries, for I am with

child.”

Then Joseph fl ew in anger, in anger he fl ew:“Oh, let the father of the baby gather cherries for

you.”

So the cherry tree bowed low down, low down to the ground,

And Mary gathered cherries while Joseph stood down.

Then Joseph took Mary all on his right knee,Crying, “Lord, have mercy for what I have done.”

When Joseph was an old man, an old man was he,He courted Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee.

13 Lullaby for an Anxious Child Hush child,Let your mummy sleep into the night until we rise.Hush child,Let me soothe the shining tears that gather in your

eyes.

Hush child,I won’t leave, I’ll stay with you to cross this Bridge

of Sighs.Hush child,I can’t help the look of accusation in your eyes,in your eyes.

The world is broken now,All in sorrow,Wise men hang their heads.

Hush child,Let your mummy sleep into the night until we

rise.Hush child,All the strength I’ll need to fi ght I’ll fi nd inside

your eyes,In your eyes.

14 The Hurdy-Gurdy ManIn the snow there Stands a hurdy-gurdy manWho with his frozen fi ngers Plays as best he can.

Barefoot on the ice He shuffl es to and fro,And his empty plate,It only fi lls with snow.

No one wants to hear His hurdy-gurdy song,Hungry dogs surround him And before too long

He will fall asleep And then before too longHe’ll just let it happen, Happen come what may,

Play his hurdy-gurdy Till his dying day.

Watching you, old man, I see myself in you.One day I will play The hurdy-gurdy, too.

15 You Only Cross My Mind in WinterAlways this winter child,December sun sits low against the sky,Cold light on frozen fi elds,The cattle in their stable lowing.

When two walked this winter road,Ten thousand miles seemed nothing to us then,One walks with heavy tread,The space between their footsteps slowing.

All day the snow did fall, What’s left of the day is close drawn in,I speak your name as if you’d answer me,But the silence of the snow is deafening.

How well do I recall our arguments,Our logic holds no debts or recompense,Philosophy and faith were ghostsThat we would chase until The gates of heaven were broken.

But something makes me turn, I don’t know,To see another’s footsteps there in the snow;I smile to myself and then I wonder why it is You only cross my mind in winter.

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BONUS TRACK

16 Coventry CarolLully, lulla, thow little tyne Child,By, by, lully, lullay, thow little tyne Child,By, by, lully, lullay.

O sisters too, how may we do,For to preserve this dayThis pore yongling for whom we singe:By, by, lully, lullay.

Lully, lullay, thow little tyne Child…

Herod, the king, in his raging,Chargid he hath this dayHis men of might, in his owne sight,All yonge children to slay.

Lully, lullay, thow little tyne Child…

That wo is me, pore Child for Thee!And ever morne and sigh,For Thy parting neither say nor singe,By, by, lully, lullay.

Lully, lullay, thow little tyne Child…

Produced by Robert Sadin and Sting

Recorded at Steerpike Studios, Il Palagio, Italy; The Source, Malibu; Clinton Recording Studios, New York; Manhattan Center Studios, New York; SevenSeas Studios, New YorkEngineered by Clark Germain, Donal Hodgson, Dave DarlingtonAdditional Engineering: Todd Whitelock, Tim Mitchell Assistant Engineers: Joshua Cutsinger, Mark Crowley, Tim Mitchell, Royce Jeffres, Adam Miller, Martin HollisMixed at Clinton Recording Studios; Steerpike Studios, Il Palagio, Italy; Burning Kite Digital; Bass Hit RecordingMixed by David Darlington, Robert Sadin and Sting • “Soul Cake” mixed by Donal Hodgson and StingDirector of Audio Operations for Sting: Donal HodgsonMastered by Mark Wilder at Battery Studios, New York“Soul Cake” Mastered by Bob Ludwig at Gateway Mastering, Portland, MaineMastering Assistant: Maria TrianaMusical Research / Copying and Production Assistance: Daniel BarnidgeContracting: Allen Blustine • Guitar Technician: Danny Quatrochi • Management: Kathryn Schenker / KSM, Inc.A&R: Martin Kierszenbaum and Christopher Roberts • A&R Administration: Evelyn Morgan, Amy MerxbauerProduction Coordination: Dave Sandford, Dana WisePublicity: Tracy Bufferd / Forge Ahead Media; Lucy Maxwell-Stewart / Red House PRPhotographs: Tony Molina • Package Design: Joseph HutchinsonProject Manager: David Butchart • Booklet Editor: Jochen Rudelt (texthouse) Thanks to the staff at Deutsche Grammophon and Universal Classics, including Lut Behiels, Michael Lang and Olga Makrias

Cyro Baptista appears courtesy of Tzadik Records.Chris Botti appears courtesy of Columbia Records.Jack DeJohnette appears courtesy of Golden Beams Productions.Daniel Hope appears courtesy of Deutsche Grammophon GmbH.Edin Karamazov appears courtesy of Decca Classics.Dominic Miller appears courtesy of Rutis Music Ltd., UK / Q-rious Music, Germany.The Webb Sisters appear courtesy of StratArt.

Special Thanks to Alba Papi, Bina Rossi, Paolo Rossi, Chiara Viara, Joe Sponzo, William Francis, Theresa Lowrey, Joseph Brenner, Joseph Penachio and Barry Kolstein

Robert Sadin would like to thank Don Palma, Leroy Hyter, Donna Kloepfer and Tara Hemsey.

For fan club, tickets and the latest Sting information, visit www.sting.com

� 2009 UMG Recordings, Inc. – A UNIVERSAL MUSIC COMPANY� 2009 Deutsche Grammophon GmbH, Hamburg

All songs � 2009 Steerpike (Overseas) Limited, administered by EMI Music Publishing, Ltd. exceptGabriel’s Message � 1997 GM Sumner, administered by EMI Music Publishing, Ltd. • Soul Cake � Neworld Media Music Publishers, administered by Warner Chappell / North America • Christmas at Sea � 2009 Steerpike (Overseas) Limited / Mary Macmaster (PRS/MCPS), administered by EMI Music Publishing, Ltd. • The Burning Babe � 2001 Chris Wood • The Hounds of Winter � 1996 Steerpike Ltd., administered by EMI Music Publishing, Ltd. • Cherry Tree Carol � Carlin Music Corp o/b/o Geordie Music Publ. Inc. • Lullaby for an Anxious Child � 1996 Steerpike Ltd. / Rutis Music, Ltd., administered by EMI Music Publishing, Ltd. / Magnetic Publishing, Ltd.

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